


one way two way

by cptsuke



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Or Is It?, experiencing all of time all at the same time, theres no way to prove this isnt canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:07:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26153917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptsuke/pseuds/cptsuke
Summary: Deaton exists in all of time in every moment, which is why he is both extremely done and hilariously vague
Kudos: 3





	one way two way

**Author's Note:**

> a short fic because the idea wouldnt leave my head til i put something down

When he was young, legs too short, hands too clumsy, nothing feeling _right_ , nothing like he remembers, he lived life in a single line.

The future stretched in front of him, each moment an inevitable event, an unstoppable countdown.

His mother dies in the spring - she always dies in the spring - her hands are soft and steady as she places them over his ears and kisses his forehead.

 _I'm sorry, baby_ she whispers like she always whispers when she is dying and Alan nods, bottom lip clenched between his teeth attempting to hold tears at bay.

Mama has always died today, but this is the first time today has come, and after today his mother will always be dead.

Gone.

His sister sits quietly at Mama's side, she's quiet and thoughtful, she'll always be quiet and full of thought, eyes speaking louder than her voice ever will; she won't always be his sister, not like they have been and are.

When his mother dies - Spring, holding his head, kissing him, _I'm sorry bab_ y - his line splits. The future stretching before him - with him - suddenly splinters, turns into a kaleidoscope of turns and forks and dead ends.

Time is a bit like that.

It's hard to remember sometimes that most people don't live their lives with foreknowledge, don't have to wait for things to happen _finally_ and don't have to dread things they can't avoid.

But Deaton is a veterinarian in Beacon Hills while he studies in Colorado, while Hales hold the territory, while the lands fall to dark and ruin, empty of the magic that should've sustained them, while hope springs eternal in the shape of teenagers and damaged souls; and his sister is in Quebec becoming someone else - she hasn't spoken to him since she left, but some day many years from now her accent will be different, she'll wear a different name and she put her hands in her jacket pockets and they'll be brother and sister again for awhile.

There's a fluffy headed teen who smiles pure sweetness at his door but his eyes don't flash gold - or red or gold or red - and his lungs wheeze when he gets excited; but his shoulders are strong, stronger than Alan remembers, sure they'll be strong later, but were they always this strong?

He gives him a job because he wants him close, needs him close, hopes to protect him in the way he couldn't for the Hales

(because every line he drew away from the fire shattered into hell and terror and there's something about letting most of an entire family burn – _genocide_ \- being the kindest turn of life that will always haunt and sour him.)

Derek Hale stands before him.

Derek who was young.

Derek who was strong and tall.

Derek who was a snot nosed brat tripping over his own feet.

Derek whose eyes flashed red and then blue and then red and then blue and then red and then _?_

Deaton had mixed feelings about Derek Hale.

Fondness in his heart tempered with a hardness in his soul. A wish to do right by his mother, a wish to right wrongs that his Uncle hadn't done yet and a wish just to let him bumble his own damn way just so Alan doesn't have to end up tied to a chair and beaten half to death because Derek Hale is a misguided individual.

Deaton has mixed feelings about Derek Hale.

The alpha is Peter Hale. Was always going to be Peter Hale.

He thinks about saying saying something, weighs the idea in his mind, playing out his time lines as far as he can see, trying to predict the best possible outcome.

It was far easier as a child with one line of hasn't-happens and is-happenings.

Now his eyes blur and his head aches with maybes and half-happenings, forks of life that sometimes join back together and sometimes go in very different directions. Its a delicate balance, keeping the near-happenings forefront in his mind and not letting the tendrils that scatter away from each decision consume his thoughts.

He needs to be aware, but not blinded.

Peter will die in his time and then again later when he's using someone else's.

He thinks about stopping the resurrection - has seen what Peter wroughts with his second life - but the line that leads Peter to his final death is fraught with the bodies of people who are needed; the undoing of Peter's magic, his Worm Moon, kills young Lydia - old Lydia with her uplifted chin and wealth of wisdom - tears her mind as it drains her soul and when its done she would be dust and the lives around her would falter and fade away as if they had never happened.

He doesn't like it, but the line doesn't lie to him no matter how he tries to chase down a better scenario. 

His sister settles into town, the town settling around her as if it had always known this was her place; she's dead and not his sister and yet she warmly snarks her way beside him and he is grateful for her return. 

She is a sign of the turning times, that the lines he's been following and watching and living are Happenings and not faded myth-dreams that can sneak up on people like him. Sneak up and steal the truth and life from under his feet.

He can't approve of her choices, of the line she has chose to follow; an Alpha pack will bleed in his waiting room, an Alpha will die on his steel table, his sister will still be dead come summer. He wonders if she sees that in her lines. But then, Maran was never like him. She was steadfast and headstrong, held her convictions tight and proud.

She was always good at picking a line, sticking to it, being able to see the clear path.

It was dangerous, to choose one line. To try and play out a life where the choices were all made. 

  
  



End file.
